nakedjen

Stop the Madness

Paris Fashion Week is in full swing.  I'm not going to talk about the fashions, although we all know that I'm a girl who absolutely loves her fashion.  I'm going to talk about the models. 
There is lots of buzz in the press about just how thin some of the models are and what these images are doing to the delicate impressionable psyches of our daughters.

But not just our daughters.  What about us?  Their mothers, their aunts, their grandmothers, their sisters, their friends.  These images being beamed around the globe, these women walking the catwalk who are supposed models of perfection, they weigh on our own psyches, too.

 

My sisters, my mothers, my friends, I encourage you to try your best to see the skeletons before you.

While I won't condemn these women for their x-ray thin bodies because I have no idea, at all, the circumstances that have brought them to this state (there are, dear friends, those of us who are just naturally veryveryvery thin), I will encourage each and every one of you to love the very body that you have.  And to encourage your daughters, your sisters, your mothers, your grandmothers to do the same.

Our bodies, every single one of them, are beautiful.  We do not need to be walking skeletons to portend beauty!

We can eat healthy foods and nourish ourselves, our spirit, our souls.  Skeletons may make a grand fashion statement on Halloween, but they're rather out of fashion the other 364 days of the year. 

We can have fat thighs.  A pudgy stomach.  Breasts!!

 

We can look like this.

Let us love every body, but let us start with our own.

An Addendum:

I was contacted today by someone who informed me that the photos associated with this blog entry were photoshopped and alarmist and not real.

Since I like to be about the truth here at Nakedjen, I've elected to remove those photos and replace them with others that are from actual runway shots and to the best of my knowledge are representative of what I'm discussing.

I'd also like to point all of you who happen to land here to THIS ARTICLE from Newsweek.  They have eloquently articulated a lot of what I'm trying to say and have some very interesting facts and figures about how our children view their bodies and what we might want to do about it.

The Dreaded Dreads

There's a girl, with purple hair, who might be called Nakedjen.  And that girl?  Her hair has dreads.  She didn't do it on purpose, she swears.  She knows that dreads are not so much fun and she also knows that the only way to actually get them out is to shave her head! 
It's taken over a year to actually have hair that she can put in a pony tail again and dye all sorts of fun anad intereseting colors and let me tell you, nakedjen does not want to shave her head.  Not today, anyway.

But she's got dreads, people.  All over her head.

How did this happen? 

Nakedjen does not brush her hair.  Like ever.  Or comb it.  Or even run her own fingers through it.  She's a very lazy girl when it comes to her hair, yes she is.  Which is probably a good reason why she doesn't even deserve to have long hair, isn't it?  She should have that shaved head, void of hair, if she wants that wash and go lifestyle.

Or...

She should learn to use a brush.  And conditioner.  And to do more than just wash and towel dry. 

Why, oh why, dear people of the Internet, does taking care of your hair have to come with such drudgery? 

Maybe I should just stick with the toilet paper look?  I just know this whole brushing thing is so not going to happen.  Help!

There Goes My Wallet

There are days when I am covered from head to toe in mud and puppy paw prints, drenched to my soul, looking quite less than glamorous that I marvel that once upon a time, I was a girl who strutted around in high heels and very fancy frocks. 

I know you’re laughing.  Go ahead.  Nakedjen in fancy frocks.  It sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?

I swear to all that is holy and on a pile of Manolos that it is absolutely true.  A long, long, long, long time ago…or maybe not so long ago, really, in the grand scheme of things, but what feels like an entire lifetime ago, I was a woman who truly cared about the labels in her clothing, who lived and died by the little polo pony embroidered on her shirt and the fabric hand of her skirt.  And nearly everything in my closet was black.  Black.Black.Black. 

I thought I was oh so chic.

But the thing of it was, I actually was pretty darn chic.  Or at the very least fashionable.  I was being taught by the very best that there is in the business.  One of my dearest and closest and best friends in the whole universe is Betsy Fisher.  Betsy and I met when we were 10.  Ten, people.  That’s like 32 years ago.  How many friends do you have that you can say you’ve had for 32 years?  We met while sitting on the back of our ponies at Miles River Riding School one summer afternoon.  She was from Pittsburgh, I was from Seaford.  The pony farm provided our playground.  We spent subsequent summers sharing a small one room cabin together in our own version of summer camp while also mucking stalls and showing horses and teasing boys and trying not to make Mrs. Barner completely mad with worry.  Those were some of my most favorite summers.

In the late 1980’s, Betsy, who was alwaysalwaysalways very fashionable, found herself with absolutely nowhere to shop in Washington, D.C.  She was so tired of being uninspired and of seeing the same thing everywhere she looked that she decided to open her own store.  If she was frustrated, she figured that other women were frustrated, too. 

It just so happened that I was at one of those many times in my life when I was trying to figure out what to do with myself when I reconnected with Betsy and her fabulous store.  The Grateful Dead smocks were cast by the wayside and I was soon sporting Isabel Ardee little black skirts and Nanette Lepore jackets.  Nicole Miller dresses.  Anna Sui skirts.  Think Tank one of a kind silk sheaths.  My closet was becoming a place even I didn’t recognize.  Just chock full of lovelylovelylovely things.  Betsy hired me (friends do that, don't they?  oh how lucky I was!) and I worked at the store and soon was going on buying trips with her to New York.  Oh how I loved those buying trips.  Sitting with her in designer showrooms and tempering her enthusiasm just enough to remind her that we had exactly six customers who would truly buy that particular jacket, so we really shouldn’t order any more than six.  Well, maybe one more because we'll find another new customer who will also love it.  But definitely not more than that!  But her eye, people.  She could tell the moment we walked into a showroom whether we even needed to stay.  One glance at a collection and she could either jump up and down with giddy glee or tell them thank you, we’d seen enough.   It is that eye, I am quite certain, that is the reason her store still thrives and has such a very devoted following.  Metro Washington area women completely trust Betsy to find them the unique and very special clothes that are absolutely wearable, absolutely unforgettable, yet they positively know they’re not going to see every other woman in town wearing as well. 

I left Betsy and the store when I moved back to Santa Cruz.  My leaving was not without tears, it was not without heartache, it was not without a bit of trauma.  And I will admit that it was hard to leave those cozy environs behind.  I loved working with her, every single day.  It was one of the most fun jobs I’ve ever had.  And I would gladly go back to work there again if I ever found myself back on that coast.  It is just that much fun.

For years I have been hoping that Betsy would somehow expand those four walls of her boutique and bring the world of Betsy Fisher online.  I could not, honestly, quite imagine how it would happen, as one aspect that makes Betsy Fisher truly Betsy Fisher is the very personalized service you get at her store.  Betsy remembers you.  She knows what size you wear.  She knows what you’ve bought, what pieces are already in your closet and when she shops in New York or Los Angeles, she actually keeps you in mind and will say, “Oh Marian will love this suit.  It will go great with the pants she bought last year!”  I can not tell you now many times, I’ve heard Betsy say this about each and every customer she has.  She’ll call them, personally, on the phone and tell them about a special sweater that just came in. Or a pair of earrings that remind her of them.  It’s like having your very own personal shopper who is also your best girlfriend and who is making sure you always look absolutely dynamite, no matter what the occasion. 

So how can all that personality translate to the world of online shopping?  Well, I’m not sure that it can.  But still, my special wish has come true.  Betsy Fisher is now an online shopping destination.  And in true Betsy Fisher style, she’s even already put together a multitude of looks for you to peruse.  Which is exactly what she’d do if you were to walk into the store.  She’d gather her favorite items from the latest shipment and mix and match and tell you just the reasons why you simply must have that Gerard Darel jacket, all the while shoving various ensemble ideas at your naked self standing in her dressing room.

Now?  Now we can all stand naked at our very own front door and wait for the UPS man to bring us big fat boxes filled with fabulous clothes.  Our wallets will shrink, our closets will grow, and we all, every single one of us, will look absolutely smashing.   The people at the dog park just won’t know what to make of me now, will they? 

Oscar 2005 Fashion: Mermaids Belong In The Sea

i know at this point it is so daybeforeyesterday's news but i feel compelled to write about the oscars. we all know that at one point in my nakedjen lifetime i lived and died by the manolos and versaces. the oscar's red carpet makes me practically hyperventilate in anticipation of what might just appear.

i have one primary thing to say about this year's overall fashion statement. mermaids do far better swimming in the sea than they do walking on the planet.

i was not at all impressed by the mermaid gowns. not at all. this is primarily because those who chose to wear them would have looked FAR BETTER if they had chosen a different style of dress. a mermaid gown is not flattering to those of us who have broad hips. and honey, that's most of us. really and truly. we are women. we are meant to create life. we have broad hips. very few of us can pull off a gown that is hugging our hips like a girdle only to then accentuate their broadness with a flippy skirt near our feet. just doesn't work.

there's been a lot of talk about hilary swank's dress. oprah nearly went into cardiac arrest gushing over it. and we all know if oprah says it's fabulous, well we're going to have ten million women all around the world rushing to buy one just like it. i hope that in this case they don't. we all must remember that hilary swank had a team of professional trainers working with her seven days a week to have a back that beautiful. a back that had not an ounce of fat and beautiful lats and was just lovely to look at. the rest of us, oprah included, do not have backs like that. and our backs aren't going to look quite that good in that dress. let's also remember that we don't have the "magic" underwear that hollywood has. just like they have magic potions for their hair, they also have magic undergarments. some day one of us is going to crack that code and make millions of dollars sharing those magic undergarments with the rest of the world. but right now? we're stuck with our panties from victoria's secret. and those are not going to cut it under that dress.

the thing about that dress? it was lovely if hilary had been walking into the oscars BACKWARDS. but we don't walk into the oscars backwards, now, do we? no, we walk into the oscars and up to the stage facing forward. and hilary admitted that she chose it because it had LONG SLEEVES and she was worried that it was going to be a cold and chilly night and she wanted to be warm and comfortable. from the front she looked like she was certainly warm and comfortable and all wrapped up mummy style. a bobble head doll over a sea of navy blue fabric. like i said, if she spent the night walking around backwards, it was quite dramatic. but from the front? eh. not so much.

i wasn't quite so enamoured with all the yellow this year. and versace actually got far too much exposure. messy versace, too. poor virginia madsen. she was so proud to tell everyone that her mermaid dress had been made especially for her. the only problem was that when versace actually caught that chicken of the sea girl in their fishing net they forgot to remove the net before dumping virginia into the dress. she was a shipwreck.

i knew that the big bow on penelope cruz's posterior was going to create some problems. i even hoped that mr. de la renta had been kind and had velcroed it in place so she could pop it off and place it in her lap while sitting in her seat. the bow could double as her handbag for the evening! but sadly, this was not the case, and by the time she actually appeared on stage to present the bow had twisted itself into a mangled mess and just created a huge butt distraction. not lovely. not good at all.

another problem we had this year were the squished boobs. women you have breasts. some larger than others. please stop squishing them. it's not a good look. choose a dress that fits! there's an idea. and then if you're sad because it's not quite showing off your pilates thin waist the way you want, well, have it tailored. your stylists are paid a LOT of money. tell your stylist to stop squishing your boobs.  especially your breast-feeding ones!

it was beyonce's oscars and the rest of the folks were just there to act as extras. but beyonce, honey, you goofed when you attempted to actually wear the chandelier from phantom of the opera. there are times when there is too much bling. i needed my sunglasses for that number. and why you sang it instead of emma is still rather confusing to me. she was there in her own little red mermaid frock. why didn't she sing? maybe she didn't want to wear the chandelier?

melanie?  a word of advice.  don't let antonio go shopping in las vegas show girls' second hand shops for your oscar gown, sweetie.  you're not looking quite so fab these days and well, that dress?  not so good.  not so good at all.  but you told everyone who would listen that HE chose it because it was sexy and you were not going to tell him no.  next time?  tell him no.  please. 

kate winslet, who already has my vote because she married sam mendes, knows how to dress. she understands her body. she knows that she needs to avoid those mermaid dresses. a bias cut dress makes her look fabulous. and the one she chose from badgley mischka was so perfect for her. and so fashion forward. blue is this year's black. she looked like a breath of fresh air.

can someone please explain to me what was up with the ankhs? did you all notice johnny depp (who i will forgive for his outfit because he is, johnny depp, and well i expect him to look different) was sporting one in the center of his neck. and other men were sporting them as well? like an ankh has replaced a red ribbon or pink ribbon or whatever the ribbon of the day is. are ankhs some new political fashion statement that the hollywood establishment forgot to send me a memo about?

i will give props to chris rock. for a first time host, he managed to diss just about everyone in the audience in some form or another. i liked his opening monologue imploring hollywood studios to please wait for an actual "star" before making a movie. and how can i not love him for comparing george w's re-election to having a job review at the gap when you've somehow lost $80 trillion dollars in the cash register and have waged war on banana republic? loved that.

i was not happy, though, with the decision to a) put all the nominees on stage or b) give them award in their "section" of the audience. i know that the producers did this to save time, but it only really served to discount those oscars even more. hey, you're up for best short film. but guess what? we don't care. so we're going to have laura linney fashion victim (oh good god, laura, if you had a fashion stylist helping you please FIRE that person rightthisveryminute and i'm guessing you traveled in a time machine back to the 80's for your do?) stand here in the aisle next to your seat where we have all of you crammed together and give you your award right here. right here in the BACK ROW, because we can not be bothered to let you have your few minutes of oscar glory and allow you to walk up to the stage and receive your award like the IMPORTANT people. no. you want to go on stage? well then make a "REAL" movie for god's sake.

but poor martin scorsese made a real movie. and even he didn't get to go up on stage. as much as i thought million dollar baby was a good movie, i think martin scorsese was robbed this year. aviator was a CLASSIC film. it had all the pieces that a BEST PICTURE should have as well. but i'm not a voting member of the academy. so i don't get to choose. but i felt sorry that he didn't win.

my most thrilling moment? charlie kaufman actually WINNING the award for best original screenplay. it's no secret around here that i think he's just brilliant, but i was almost certain that he'd lose out to the aviator just because it seemed like an aviator kind of year. eternal sunshine is quirky. it is brilliant writing, but so not mainstream. but charlie always surprises us, he always is brilliant and i'm so glad that he won. and he certainly seemed just as shocked as the rest of us that he won.

in a hollywood world where mr. kaufman can win for best original screenplay, i still have hope that one day i might be on the arm of my own oscar contender.  yes hope.  because i'm married to one rather quirky and talented screenwriter myself.  and i have big hopes that one day he'll be on stage and forget to thank his wife.  of course, he also knows should i ever get on stage to accept an oscar (what for, you ask?  god knows.  maybe just for being nakedjen) i will thank clyde.  and probably forget to thank anyone else.  well, i'm sure i'll mention the universe.  and that pretty much covers my broad hips, right?  even if they're sporting a mermaid skirt.

p.s.  cinderella?  the pumpkin coach somehow didn't make it.  but your fairy godmother is looking for you. 

someone needs to let that woman know that ORANGE is not her most flattering color.  jeez!

The Hair's Still There

For Lavonne.  Because she asked.  I hope her hair is looking just as stylish these days.  ;-)  It hasn't really grown as much as one might expect since December 21st, has it?  If I were to actually measure, I'd say it's just over an inch long.  It's going to be a while before I'll be needing my ponytail holders.  I think I'm about done, though, with all that grey.  Honestly.  It's time for at least some COLOR on that head of mine, don't you think?

P.S.  I am sorry this is not a nakedfriday picture.  I need to get back in the saddle and start doing those again.  Haven't felt much up for it lately.  But watch this space because I do believe the nakedness will be returning soon. 

Why I'm Like Carrie Bradshaw and Why I'm Not Like Carrie Bradshaw

Tonight begins the end for one of the only reasons I have HBO.  Dave and I have gone around the block about this one so many times that even our friends are all confused as to whether we actually have HBO or not.  We have these long conversations about getting rid of cable television all together.  We discuss the fact that we could join NetFlix and just watch movies.  We wring our hands and admit that we're unemployed and that the extra money we're paying for cable television really shouldn't be in the budget. 

And then I whine about not being able to see the final eight episodes of Sex and the City and Dave capitulates and says okay. 

So tonight, the last hurrah for Carrie and her friends begins.  The last eight episodes.  I have watched this show since its inception.  I read the book before the show.  I read the columns before the book.  I shopped at Patricia Field before she was Patricia Field.  I have identified with Carrie Bradshaw in many ways, but probably most specifically in her love of beautiful shoes.  The shoe episodes of that show got me every single time.   

A very little known fact about me is that I once was a columnist for a newspaper like Carrie.  Instead of writing about sex and the single girl, I was writing about teens and the ones who were actually managing to do positive things instead of ending up in juvenile detention.  Every week I delivered to my editor at least 2000 words about a teenager and his or her perspective on the world in 1980.  However, unlike Ms. Bradshaw, my writing career took a left turn somewhere during college and I ended up a playwright with my observations reserved for spoken words on a stage instead of just newprint on a page.

Now, what am I?  A woman who sits and yearns for a fictional character's shoes and won't allow her husband to cancel the cable until she's seen the final episode.  If I were a person who got depressed, I think that would be certain cause.  But even here, I can see the silver lining. 

Unlike Carrie, I have a husband.  I managed to work through all those bad relationships and my own neuroses to find a wonderful man and to also find the courage to actually say "I do."  And though I will be the first to tell you that a woman does not need a husband to be complete by any means, a husband (or wife or partner) can be a beautiful thing.  Unlike Carrie, I think I'm willing to admit that you will never actually figure it all out.  So much of her life is spent trying to sort it all through, guess what someone else is thinking, predict the if onlys.  I've learned from life that you just need to let it come and keep yourself open to all possibilities.  Fretting too much only gives you wrinkles. 

However, just like Carrie, I will always swoon over the beautiful and perfect shoes.  A woman can never have too many shoes.  Never. 

2003 May Now Rest In Peace

Before I jump into a brand new year, a year ripe with possibilities, a year when perhaps even I will finally decide what it is that I want to be when I grow up (of course that means that I might also have to grow up and that will take some doing in and of itself), I must conclude the last year with one final very long ramble-on post that includes bits and pieces of things that I’ve been thinking of over the last week or so and really want to include here before tearing off that December calendar page and jumping into January.

I don’t care that it is already January and that this post will in fact reflect that.  It’s my blog and since it’s my blog, I’m going to take the liberty to stay in 2003 for just a little while longer to reflect on some things that feel important to me even if they may seem trivial to others.

First, of course, is shopping.  One of my favorite topics and lately an activity fraught with angst and worry for me.  In my old life, the life I enjoyed in early November when I had a job that I really didn’t like so well but that paid all the bills, I loved to shop.  Shopshopshop.  Especially for very fine shoes and very fine clothing items.  Oh the joy I experienced when I found the perfect pair of shoes or that sexiest black dress. 

Last Sunday, I went shopping.  Before I even went I was filled with slight trepidation as I know the current status of our bank account and am well aware that we are both currently job seekers (as Billy would say) and the money is not exactly rolling in to replace the money that is rolling out for daily living expenses here in Santa Cruz.  However, Matt and Lisa were going to hit the post-holiday sales and since this included a trip to Santana Row among other places I joined in for the fun. 

The Universe was both helpful and hurtful that day.  There was nothing to buy.  Quite literally there was nothing even on sale.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  There were things on sale.  Just nothing anyone who thinks clearly would actually want to purchase.  That was until I entered Nordstroms in an effort to use their Ladies Room.  Here’s where the Universe decided to truly test my resolve.

I managed to make my way past all the beautiful and amazing shoes that were quite literally making catcalls to me as I walked past trying my best to avoid them.  Despite their “Hey Baby, look at me” incantations, I remained strong in my resolve not to touch them or ask the price, lest I be tempted to try one or two on just for kicks and then succumb to the feel of hand-tooled leather on my little feet and a thought that if I don’t get these perfect shoes right this very minute I might simply perish.  Those of you who do not suffer as a shoe fetishist can not possibly relate, I’m sure.  But I am talking to those of you who know exactly why Imelda Marcos had all those shoes in her many closets.  I know that YOU completely understand.

It took all my strength, will and resolve to keep walking for the escalators and skip the shoe department.  I’ll admit that once on the escalators I did contemplate running back down and throwing myself prostrate at the bottom of the Manalo Blahnik display (oh if you could have just seen the lovely pink paisley numbers) but as there were many gray-haired old ladies who followed me onto the escalator and knowing I would probably have trampled at least one as I elbowed my way back down, I refrained. 

Phew.  I thought I was safe.

Thought, that is, until I got off the escalator on the second floor and headed towards the Ladies Room. 

The second floor of this particular Nordstrom is where all the designer clothing resides.  I had left the designer shoes and delivered myself into the designer clothing racks.  And they were having a sale.  Sixty percent off on some of those one of a kind items if you could find your size.  Racks and racks of lovelylovelylovely things were sitting there just taunting and teasing me. 

I stopped.  I looked.  I couldn’t believe that the D&G jeans were only $99.  There was the cutest pink wool suit by Moschino for just $249.  A steal, really.  And oh my, was that really a Roberto Cavelli dress?  I will even admit that I took things off the rack and held them up to my body.  Then I’d look at the price tag, shake my head that the discount was so grand and put it back on the rack.  I have a closet over-flowing with designer clothes.  I don’t even have a job.  Those beautiful things would have to stay right where they were.

So I pushed my way through.  I was on a mission.  The Ladies Room called.  And I was only fifteen feet away at this point.  I could make it.  I had willpower.  Nothing could stop me. 

Nothing that is, except a certain blush pink dress by Michael Kors. 

The exact dress worn by Sarah Jessica Parker's character Carrie on an episode of Sex and the City this season.  A dress so nearly perfect that when I saw it in just the preview for the show I exclaimed to Dave, “I’ve got to find that dress!”  And Dave laughed and wondered aloud why I needed yet another fancy dress when I don’t wear half the ones already hanging in my closets. 

There it was.  Hanging by itself between me and the Ladies Room.  And because I needed to be completely tormented, it was my size exactly. 

I picked it up.  It was only $398.  Yes, only.  I thought only when I picked it up.  I thought only as I held it up to me and felt how absolutely perfect it was.  I thought only as I felt the silk and noticed the details and the seams.  I thought only as I carried it with me towards the cashier.  I continued thinking only as I looked around at Michael Kors Spring collection that is predominantly pinks and yellows and oranges and thought to myself how cute some of those things would be, too.  I thought only until I snapped out of it for goodness sake! 

$398 is not in our budget right now.  Not even close.  So just as I was about to hand that perfect little party dress to the nice cashier lady at Nordstrom my bladder suddenly reminded me about the Ladies Room, I snapped back to reality and I quickly jumped out of line.  The perfect little blush pink party dress was going back on the rack.  I was going to the Ladies.  Our bank account would remain intact.  And that was that.  Disaster narrowly averted, perfect pink dress left for another lucky size 8. 

On Tuesday afternoon we were invited to the Fossgreen’s house for dinner.  Don Fossgreen works for the company that used to employ both Dave and me.  In other words, he’s a former co-worker and he’s a very lovely and kind and generous person.  His wife, Veronique, is from France.  She’s equally lovely and kind and generous. They have two sons, Alex and Paul.  I learned a lot about Don and Veronique and their children during the course of that dinner.  Things I had never known or even thought to ask while we were co-workers.  Things that made me love him and his family even more.

The Fossgreen’s live in a very nice house in Scotts Valley.  Dave and I learned that is was once just a shack and that they’ve done extensive remodeling projects over the years to make it what it is today.  They claim they are still not finished.  I guess that’s what happens when you buy a house.  There’s always a project. 

Their house is so comfortable and inviting.  They’ve done a marvelous job of making it a real home.  They’ve got a huge backyard where they’ve put in a patio and a hot tub.  Dave and I were given a tour and learned all about how during renovations they first lived in a trailer (with two small boys) and then in the garage, splitting it right down the middle with all of their furniture! 

We all helped make dinner together.  Ratatouille, wild rice, salmon, bread with a garlic parsley butter (that was so good you wanted to lick it off your fingers) and salad with a wonderful lemon and garlic vinaigrette. All of that was served with the most delicious red wine that Don had chosen from his extensive cellar.  And even though we were stuffed, we still managed to follow everything with a delightful cheese course.  You can never have too much cheese!

It was at dinner that I learned that Alex, who is 14, is a huge Danny Elfman fan.  I have to tell you that I was very impressed by this.  How many 14 year olds do you know that even know whom Danny Elfman is?  I shared with Alex my own love for Danny and the fact that I had met him once since he was once the boyfriend of a former boss of mine. 

Actually, I was very impressed with both of Don’s kids because they are such unique and gregarious individuals and you can tell from talking with both of them that they have been nurtured to see the world with their own eyes and to make their own decisions.  That will serve them well.

We ended the evening with a long discussion on movies, especially French ones, and books and a soak in the hot tub munching on cherries.  It was a great evening and Dave and I are excited to return the invitation.

Our New Year’s Eve began with no plans.  A few calls around to our friends proved that everyone else was otherwise engaged.  Dave and I went downtown to see the annual New Years Eve First Night parade and then stopped by the steps of the Civic Center where our friend Max was performing with his improv troupe.  We came home and were contemplating a hot tub and massage, but all the hot tub/massage places were closed for the evening.  So then we figured we’d go get some sushi, see Peter Pan and then hit the clock tower to ring in the New Year with our fellow Santa Cruzans. 

However, our friends Aaron and Aleks called and invited us to dinner at Takara (another sushi restaurant).  Well, we wanted sushi, so why not?  We decided we could go meet them for sushi, perhaps hit Heartwood afterwards (Heartwood is another hot tub place that was actually closing last night so it was free for everyone who wanted to come), and then still possibly hit the movie and the clock tower to ring in the new year.

Well that was the plan.  But as 2003 taught both of us well, plans don’t always go as planned.  Dinner was fun.  Dan, a longtime friend of Aaron and Aleks was there with them and I always find him rather entertaining.  He has recently done the Forum and even did EST long ago, so I had no shortage of things to talk about with him.  He also has family in Philadelphia and insisted on calling them at 9:00 p.m. to wish them all a happy new year.  Aaron and Aleks told us about the drive back and forth to Salt Lake City where they had gone for the holidays.  And they talked about playing poker with Aleks’ family.  Which shifted the conversation to cards.

Suddenly it was decided that we’d all go over to A&A’s house to play poker and soak in their hot tub.  Off we all went.  Poker was played.  And played.  And played some more.  Since there were no poker chips in the house, we used Monopoly money.  We played Texas Hold-Em until well after the delayed ball had dropped in Time’s Square (we flipped it on with ten seconds to spare).  We never did get in the hot tub, but A&A promise we’ll soak when we return on Saturday night.  They’re having us over for dinner and movies and maybe some games. 

Today was spent dodging rain drops, saying good-bye to my electric blue umbrella which suffered a horrible death thanks to the wind accompanying all the rain, and in search of the perfect calendar(s) at our local bookshop that was having a huge sale.  I didn’t find the perfect calendar(s), but we did meet Matt and Lisa and went to Lulu’s for coffee and pie and conversation.  Conversation about our job searches and the possible move to either New York or LA.  For those keeping score, New York is winning by a landslide, but San Francisco has now entered the competition.  Dave has decided that he will get a job that supports us and spent much of today looking for one.  One that means I don’t have to worry about the money situation (except when pink dresses scream my name and are 60% off and I think they’re only $398…I think then, I will have to worry about the money situation and figure out how such a perfect pink confection will be acquired).  But he’s up for the challenge of helping to make my life not so challenging.  I do believe he’s the best husband on the entire planet.  At least for me. 

So now, finally, it is 2004.  A year when I will turn 40.  A year when I have absolutely everything to look forward to because I have nothing holding me back and have finished looking backwards.  A year when I can truly decide what it is that I want to be and go for it without any regrets.  If 2003 was the year when I discovered my authenticity, I hope that 2004 will be the year that I grow into it and become even more empowered. 

Dave and I are truly not sure what this year will hold.  We both have high hopes and aspirations for lots of wonderful and amazing things.  If even just one of those things happens this year, I will consider it a year well lived.  And if none of them happen, I suppose that as long as I live each day with gratitude and grace and kindness towards all I know and and all I love, it will still be a year well lived. 

Onward to 2004.  2003 may now rest in peace.

The Economy Is Improving!

We shopped. And shopped. And shopped. And I didn't get to Erica Tanov or Lilith. Or Rabat. Which is probably just as well as I don't have money to spend on myself anyway (especially since I found this perfect little black dress at a holiday "party" I went to on Friday night and given my inability to resist perfect little black dresses it went home with me). I did get Dave another birthday present. Just a silly little one. And some pressies for friends.

We had the most amazing dinner at Ginger Island. Really delicious food. I felt kind of like a pig! But it all sounded so good I just kept ordering and ordering. Oh and I got the most amazing cheese at the Pasta Shop. Humboldt Fog. (Em, I think you know that cheese). Absolutely lovely! Along with another very creamy velvety cheese from France that's made from goat's milk.

Dave asked what I was doing as I don't usually eat cheese. I told him I was going to sit and drink tea and eat cheese on fresh bread from Kelly's bakery and act like I didn't have any cares in the world.

He laughed.

So tonight is the second half of Angels. We have now watched the first half. But tonight we're treking up to Bonny Doon to celebrate the end of Survivor with NakedIan since tomorrow (Monday) is NakedIan's and Dave's birthday. Isn't that odd how they both have the same birthday and they're both just about the most important men in my life? (We can't forget Clyde...he's number one). And the following day is my best girlfriend's birthday! I have such a thing for Sagittariuses.

If any of you feel like dropping Dave a birthday hello, you can send him greetings here. He's turning 35 and I think he thinks he's getting old. Funny man. I'll always be older so I don't understand what the big deal is!  The day will be all about him (as it should be) with gatherings from morning until night to celebrate his special day. 

I better go find an appropriate card.

The Perfect Jeans by Any Means

Today is a day for sushi and shopping.  SassyJen has a new man, a cowboy, in her life.  I'm meeting her at Santana Row to hear her gush.  I like gushing.  I like love.  I like girls in love.  Fun.  Shopping will follow.  Since I am now devoid of credit cards and budgeted by dear Dave, shopping has become a whole new challenge.  Lots more looking, lots less purchasing.  Not like I have room in my closets for unnecessary objects anyway.  Gail is joining us.  I should go make myself presentable.

Yesterday was spent at Watsu for Clyde and in search of the perfect jeans.  As I've mentioned, the jeans I currently wear are from tenth grade.  I actually remember the day I bought them at Bloomingdale's of all places.  I got them and a t-shirt with a glittery star in the center.  I think I thought I was a porn star even at 15.  The t-shirt is long gone.  But the jeans have lasted.  That's 25 years, people.  I think the manufacturer of those jeans gets a prize. 

I found the perfect jeans yesterday at Calvin Klein!  I was shocked.  Absolutely, shocked.  Why?  Because 25 years ago when Brooke Sheilds was telling everyone that nothing came between her and her Calvins, I wanted nothing more than a pair of those jeans.  But my little pinky toe wouldn't even fit in them, much less my entire body.  And they were WAY TOO LONG.  Yesterday?  They fit.  Perfectly.  Weird.  Fit models have obviously changed to accommodate the new expanding girth of America.  That's all I can figure.  I bought two pairs.  One that's even meant to be hip huggers.  This is huge.  I don't do hip huggers.  But I couldn't deny that these jeans made me look good.  Or maybe it was just their mirrors in their dressing rooms.  It could be that you know.  Oh well.  I think they look good and that's all that matters.

Dave and I did absolutely nothing last night.  Nothing.  Well, I did nothing.  I think he worked on his screenplay. 

So isn't that all more than you ever cared to know?  Totally boring, I know.  But sometimes, life's just like that.

Dude, Where's My Blog?

YIKES!  Somehow my whole blog is green and ugly.  Off to change that.  Why didn't someone say something.  This is so not the NAKEDJEN style.  And we all know I'm all about style. 

It doesn't make me mellow.  Ick. 

Ahhh...better now.  All better.  But who the hell chose green grass template for the layout?  Weirdness.